


[Art + Fic] Into the Light

by Ada_Lovelaced, Charlie9646



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Bisexual Pansy Parkinson, Cunnilingus, Digital Art, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hanukkah, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Pansy, Kissing, Lesbian Hermione Granger, Marriage, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-War, Traditions, Uspeakable Hermione Granger, Vague mentions of the Holocaust, mentions of NottPott, mentions of gay Severus Snape, vague mentions of character’s death due to old age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ada_Lovelaced/pseuds/Ada_Lovelaced, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/pseuds/Charlie9646
Summary: Pansy love Hermione, her love as deep as the ocean and as tall as a mountain, but letting someone in about something so close to you is harder than it seems. Though the truth was she should know her wife and how the woman tended to take things in stride.This was Pansy’s and Hermione’s first Hanukkah together.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	[Art + Fic] Into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you anne_ammons for Betaing this, you helped me make sense of it and keep the most important parts. Ada_Lovelaced thank you so much for allowing me to write for your beautiful art. 
> 
> This piece was hard for me, but also close to my heart.
> 
> Charlie, thank you for taking my art and bringing it to life! - Ada

Hanukkah had been a part of her life for as long as Pansy could remember. Hogwarts accepted all students. Albus Dumbledore understood that he had many students from a different background than what was considered _traditional_ for English magic folk. For all of his problems, he had been welcoming and considerate. 

Her family and those like them had been in an odd situation -- they were both Slytherins and Jewish. Being a snake meant desiring the old magical traditions to come back, but being a Jew had kept them at an arm’s length from the rest. Draco, for all of how much he cared for her, could not and would not understand that, at least as a child. To him, winter was about Christmas, about ribbons of green and red, and most all, presents under the tree. Maybe that was why they couldn't seem to make things work between them or maybe it was due to other things. The two of them had been like puzzle pieces that never fit quite right. It was neither of their faults and looking back with the eyes of a grown woman it simply was not meant to be. It was also the right choice.

Her friend was happy now with Astoria. Together they had Scorpius, their son and Pansy’s godson. 

Hermione on the other hand, was different from Draco. She was kind, generous, and most of all, curious. Over the years, Pansy’s wife had grown from being the insufferable little-know-it-all to a woman who loved to listen and understand. Maybe that was why Hermione was now an Unspeakable. Her job allowed her to pick things apart until she understood every single detail and now she could share it with others. 

Maybe it was foolish for Pansy to have not yet shared this with her, to have waited until after they were married. She did not want to press her to convert to Judaism, to become something that she was not. If Hermione was going to become part of this, it would be on her terms and that was okay. 

Her traditions and religion, however, were important to Pansy. They were their own forms of magic in a way, just as old and just as deep as the power that flowed within her veins. This was _her_ history. It was her past and it was her present. Her faith was like the threads of an old quilt knitted into her soul, just as much as her magic was. 

Hermione was sitting on their sofa, her dark brown curls around her in disarray, watching her with kind brown eyes. She was silently waiting for Pansy to be ready to start. 

For that she was grateful.

Her wife was a gift in her own right.The woman who had forgiven her for her cowardice and unwillingness to stand up for what she believed in. 

Pansy knew her grandmother would not have been proud of her during the war. That is, if she had been still alive, but maybe she might be now. Leah Bernstein was barely five foot tall on a good day. She had been stubborn, moody, and hard-headed. She had never been one for standing aside and letting harm come to others. Her grandmother hadn’t gotten a proper magical education or even a wand until she turned sixteen. Even witches had to sometimes be scared of Muggles. 

“I love you, you know that right?” Hermione said softly. “And if you don’t want me here for this I can leave if you would like… I can go and stay with Harry or my parents.”

“No,” Pansy answered firmly, steadying herself by grabbing onto the mantle of their fireplace. “I want you here. I want to share this with you. I want you to be a part of this and I want this to be a part of our children’s lives someday.” 

“And I want to be here, but only if you want me to be. I don’t want to intrude on something I shouldn’t.”

Pansy gathered her thoughts and then walked over to sit next to Hermione. She reached out to take her hand. “You are my family now and that is what Hanukkah is about. It’s about saying we are still here. We survived. That it doesn’t matter how many times we, as a people, get knocked down we _will_ stand back up once more.”

“That’s lovely,” Hermione murmured, leaning her head onto Pansy’s shoulder. “I am grateful you want to share this with me...I wanted to ask before we got married, but I didn’t think it was my place to. I figured when you were ready that you would invite me so we could celebrate together.” 

“Granger, I have never been as brave as you are.”

“But you are just as clever,” her wife giggled. 

She laughed crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t agree with that, but matters little though. Now, how about we go make dinner, doesn’t that sound nice?”

Pansy stood up, brushing her hands against her green dressing gown as she did so. Hermione was a good woman, but Pansy, surely as she lived and breathed, was the lucky one. She made her way into their kitchen. It was small with cabinet doors that would never stay perfectly shut. There was a smoke alarm that Hermione had insisted on that would start beeping randomly when Pansy was frying something. When they had first moved in, she had pointed out that they didn’t need it, because there were spells and charms for such things. But Hermione had insisted, so Pansy had accepted the blasted thing, no matter how much sometimes she wanted to chuck it straight out the window. 

Sometimes, it was easier to just go along with someone on something that they were so dead set on.

This place was theirs, though; the first real place they could truly call truly theirs. Hermione’s bookshelves in their tiny sitting room were filled to the brim, Pansy’s potion’s lab in the basement, their small master bedroom with no closet, and the kitchen that always led to them brushing up against one another. They painted the cabinets a warm cherry colour and the walls a soft purple. It was a tiny two-up from a time period that had long since past. Many families had once called this place home, Muggles mostly, factory workers, housewives, and typists who finally earned the freedom to earn their own money. 

It was in a tiny forgotten stretch of London on the East End. This place was just brimming with new beginnings, Hermione had said when they viewed it and looking back, Pansy agreed with her. This place was their home. When she had told her mother that they had finally bought a house, she had given them an old trunk, one that had been given to her mum by her mother-in-law when she had first married Pansy’s father. It had inside it a menorah, a set of nine candles, a recipe for latkes, dreidel, a quilt that had once belonged to Pansy’s grandfather on her mother’s side, a Kiddush cup and Seder plate for Passover, two wine glasses, and a bottle of red wine. It was a house warming gift but it was also a push to her daughter to keep their traditions alive.

It was also a way for her mother to let her know that she had accepted Hermione, that it was time to bring the woman into the family fold. Her parents had not been pleased with the idea of Pansy marrying a Muggle-born, though they had been fine with the fact that she was with another woman. It was a strange situation to be in; one that seemed to have no straight answer, but her parents were like her, Slytherins to their very core. However, what was done, was done and there was nothing to worry about. Acceptance in shades of grey was still acceptance. Sometimes you had to just shake your head and be okay with it, or at least that is what Hermione said when she would grumble about them. 

Her parents were from a generation that was coming to a close, their time was over, and now it was time for a new generation to take its place. Pansy knew with every fibre of her heart and soul though that she would raise her children differently than she had been. Her children would not look at someone different from themselves as something wrong, whether because of their house affiliation, or their parentage. 

If there ever was another war? Her children wouldn’t be the ones to shout _‘grab him’_ about the person who was trying to make the world a better place for all people. 

Pansy opened and reached into the cabinet where they stored their dry goods and got what she needed. She then pulled out the latkes recipe that was taped to the inside of the cupboard door and set it aside. 

“Mind grabbing a pan, the potatoes, and getting just over a cup of water?” she asked, brushing her bangs out of her face.

“Sure,” Hermione repiled, smiling at her. 

Pansy dug out the eggs, a large mixing bowl and vegetable oil. Both of them washed their hands. She then broke the eggs and beat them into a separate bowl. She had never been a good cook. When she was growing up there had always been house-elves, which Hermione had put her foot down on. There would be no house-elves in their home or at least not until they had children, and even then she or he would be paid like any other nanny. However, not having grown up in the kitchen meant that Pansy wasn’t a good cook, though Hermione wasn’t much better. 

Maybe she would learn how to make these properly before they had kids of their own. Hermione grated the potatoes, clearly not enjoying the process. 

The water went in next, followed by the oil, Hermione’s mess of potatoes, and the eggs. 

“These are traditional to make on Hanukkah,” Pansy said. 

“But your mum knows that both of us could burn water on a good day,” Hermione said rather matter of factly, adding with slightly more cheer. “As my mother says as long as it tastes good, it doesn’t matter if it comes out of a box.”

“Exactly. After, if you don’t mind, we can sing together or if you don’t want to, I can do it myself.” Pansy felt her cheeks heat up at her words, desperately wanting to hide her face, but she stood strong. 

She twisted her wedding band around, the silver band, the ruby, set with diamonds around it. Hermione had hand picked it with her in mind and Pansy loved it dearly. She watched Hermione set out the wine glasses and the bottle of red from the rack on the wall. The mix wasn’t exactly like her mother’s, but she didn’t know what went wrong with it. The batter looked a little too watery. 

“Does this look wrong to you, Hermione?” 

Her wife leaned over her shoulder looking down at the batter, “I think it looks okay, but I have never made it before.” 

Harry and Theo, who had visited them a few weeks ago, had brought dinner with them. Because while Potter seemed to be able to blow up a potion by simply looking at it wrong, he could make a rather good souffle. 

“I think we should just try it and see what happens, though honestly, where is Potter when you need him?”

“Likely at home doing...I don’t want to know what with Theo,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. “And yes, I will sing with you if you want me to. I looked up a few songs when you told me you wanted to do this, so I sort of know the ones you usually sing with your family. Before you ask, your mum told me which ones you usually sing.”

“You did that for me?” she asked. Her face heated up once more, “You didn’t have to do that...but I am very grateful.” 

Pansy pulled her wife close and kissed her forehead. “How did I get so lucky?”

Hermione’s cheeks turned a shade of scarlet as her Weasley sweater fell off her shoulder, “I could say the same when it comes to you.” 

She then pulled Pansy into a kiss, their lips crashing together. Hermione gently tugged her wife’s dressing gown off her shoulder. Pansy’s hands grasped the other woman’s hair. Hermione’s tongue invaded her mouth, as if she was teasing her. They pulled away from each other after a moment, their foreheads resting together. 

“I love you, Hermione,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Pansy, but I think we should get back to making the latkes.”

“That we should.” Pansy poured the batter into the greased pan and then turned on the stove. It sizzled and the smell filled the kitchen. Hermione turned on the overhead fan, without a word, handed her the spatula. 

After a few moments, her wife added, “My favourite of the songs that your mother taught me was _‘Light one candle,’_ can we sing that one?”

“Yes,” she said. Together their soft voices filled the air as they watched the pancakes cook. 

“ _Light one candle for the Maccabee children. Give thanks that their light didn't die. Light one candle for the pain they endured when their right to exist was denied. Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice justice and freedom demand. Light one candle for the wisdom to know when the peacemaker's time is at hand._ ”

Pansy stopped dead in her tracks the words that she had sung for as long as she could remember finally clicking into place within her mind. Long ago, she had asked her mother why they weren’t like the other Pureblood families, why the Malfoys, the Notts, and all the others seemed to keep them at arm’s length. 

She recalled how all those years ago her mother had stared out the window and watched the snowfall before speaking. When she did, her voice was mournful but also gentle, _‘Because no matter how you feel about someone, there is no reason to make them not exist. We don’t get to decide who is worthy of life and who is not. The others followed a man during the first war who felt that way. Just like someone had about us, not so long time ago about us.’_

“What’s wrong, love?” Hermione asked, her fingers brushing against Pansy’s arm. 

“Nothing, I’m just thinking about the past, I know I shouldn’t.”

“The past is the past and there is nothing you can do to change it,” her wife said as a matter-of-fact.

“Yes, but that is easier said than done,” Pansy sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“But we must,” Hermione murmured, taking one of Pansy’s hands in both of her own. “Because we can’t live in the past or future and we must make a life for ourselves in the present.”

A popping sound filled her ears as she opened her mouth to speak and then the awful smell of burning latkes filled her nose. 

“No!” She cried, “it’s all my fault I ruined them! I ruined this day. How could I have been so stupid?” 

Panic filled her. It twisted inside her like a cauldron waiting to explode. Hermione turned off the stove as the smoke alarm began to scream. She pulled out her wand to silence it before pulling Pansy close and kissing her forehead and her cheeks. 

“Love, you did not ruin it. Burnt food isn’t something to cry over. We have done this many times before and undoubtedly, we will do it again, which is why I have a backup plan.”

Pulling herself together Pansy questioned, “What’s your backup plan?”

“Harry.” The name was a simple and soft answer but a powerful one as well. “I asked him if he could make us some latkes, which he had never made before, but he is a better cook than pretty much anyone we know.”

“He is,” she said solemnly. “But where are they and why didn’t you tell me?”

“In the cold box, let me get them out,” Hermione said going over to the other side of the room. “I didn’t tell you because… Well, you seemed so happy to make them and it’s your family tradition, so I didn’t want to take over. But, I also wanted to make sure we could have them if the worst happened.”

She turned back around and in her hands was a Tupperware container. Hermione took off the lid and put it in the microwave. The two stood together and listened to the soft sounds of the strange Muggle invention as it heated up their food.

“Thank you. I am sorry I got so upset,” Pansy said, wiping her face with her silk sleeve. 

“It’s fine,” Hermione said, smiling as she did so. “Now would you like a glass of wine?”

“I would.” 

Hermione popped the cork and poured them each a glass. She handed one to Pansy and kissed her cheek as she did so. This was what love was: the sweet and warm feeling that filled the pit of your stomach like nothing else, knowing that someone would be there for you no matter what, that the two of you were like puzzle pieces that fit together just right. 

The microwave emitted a sharp ding and their cakes were done. Hermione pulled them out and set them on a plate. This wasn’t like Pansy’s childhood, but it didn’t need to be. In their tiny little kitchen, they were home. Together they ate the latkes picking at them between kisses and lingering touches. 

  
  


“It’s time to light the candle,” Pansy said, as she pulled out her wand and walked over to Menorah on their counter. “I want to show you how, so you can do it tomorrow, if you would like to?”

“Only if you want me to, but I would love to.”

‘“We are going to have to teach our children one day and I want you to be a part of that.”

“Shouldn’t I convert first, before I learn to light them?” Hermione asked, her brown eyes warm and open. 

“You want to convert to Judaism?” Pansy asked, her heart warming at her wife’s words. 

Hermione wrapped her hand around Pansy’s hip pulling her close, “I do, and your mum has been talking to me about how to go about it. I am just lucky that you want me to be a part of this. ”

“You are the lucky one? Hermione Jean Granger, and you will never be able to tell me anything different.” 

“I think we both are lucky ones, love.”

Pansy lit the and said, “ _Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b-mitzvotav, v-tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”_

It meant _Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light._

Her voice grew stronger and she said, “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, she-asah nisim la-avoteinu v-imoteinu ba- yamim ha-heim ba-z’man ha-zeh.”

It meant, _Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time._

And then she said her favourite part, which was only said on the first night, “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, shehecheyanu v-ki’y’manu v-higianu la-z’man ha-zeh.”

The meaning sticking with her all the days of her life, _Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion._

Pansy lit the shamash and then used it to light the first candle. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. It had not been perfect but they had done it together and filled her with joy. She looked over at her wife, the warm glow illuminated Hermione’s face as she stood near her. Pansy pulled her into a kiss, and as she did so, their bodies came together as if they were dancers. The two clung to one another. Hermione sent shockwaves along Pansy’s skin with each of her touches. Her wife backed her against the kitchen counter and picked her up, putting her on top of it. Their clothing came off bit by bit, falling to the floor like confetti. A gasp escaped Pansy’s lips as Hermione toyed with her nipple, her teeth grazing against it. 

Hermione was touching her in the places she knew would make her cry out and plead for more. They had been toying with each other all night, enjoying every single movement of it. Pansy pulled Hermione up for another kiss, wrapping her hand around her wife’s neck as she did so. Her fingers slipped into her curls as her tongue dove into the other woman’s mouth. This was heaven, if there was such a thing. It was glorious and lovely. Their bodies drew closer as if they were magnets. 

Hermione pulled away and her mouth went between Pansy’s legs. She teased her first, kissing her inner thighs. Pansy reached down trying to convince Hermione to get on with it, but her wife continued taking her time. Her body shivered and shook with arousal. Hermione's mouth was on her now; fingers teasing her clit, and then slipping inside of her. Pansy was close. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff. Her hands twisting into Hermione’s hair as it felt like the world gave out on her. 

Cries slipped out from between her clenched teeth. 

Hermione pulled away from Pansy and dropped to her knees on the tile floor. Their eyes met, their breath coming out in puffs. They both reached out for one another. 

“I can take care of you if you want me to,” Pansy whispered. “I love you so much, Hermione.”

“No, I am good, sweetheart. This was about you.”

She jumped down from the counter and pulled on her clothes as she watched her wife do the same. They left the candles burning but Pansy did as her mother always did. She moved the menorah away from the cabinets so they would not cause anything to catch fire. Hermione’s face seemed slightly pinched at the idea of leaving the candles still burning. 

“It’s part of the holiday,” she murmured. “My family always left them burning and the manor never caught fire, I promise.”

Hermione nodded, “I believe you, but it’s still quite odd to leave a candle burning when we go to bed. But I trust you.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Pansy said, pulling her wife close. “Thank you for taking part with me in this and thank you for being here for me.”

“I will always be here, Pansy, as long as you want me to be.”

“And I will want you to be here forever.” 

Like always the subject of children came up. Hermione wanted them soon, growing up as a only child left her with a dull ache for a large family. Pansy felt it too, but it was different for her; it was the crushing weight of being told witches and wizards _had_ to have children. And sooner the better was best. If they only could decide on names the subject might be less frustrating, but sometimes that seemed like an impossible thing to do. They couldn’t seem to agree on one. 

“If we end up having a boy we name him Hugo after my uncle?” Her wife asked. “And maybe Rose for a girl?”

“Isn’t your uncle Hugo still alive?” Pansy remarked, as she scrubbed Harry’s Tupperware container in the sink. Magic never seemed to get them clean enough, no matter how many times you used them.

“He is, but why does that matter?”

She sighed, shut off the faucet, and set the flannel aside. “It’s just something we don’t do… Naming a child after someone is a way to honour the dead. Though my opinion is that our children will be their own people and they shouldn’t have to share their name with a living person. But I do like Rose, we could go with Rose Leah. Leah was my grandmother’s name.”

“What were you thinking for a boy?” Hermione asked. “The other name I was considering I don’t think that you will like, to be honest.”

“Severus,” Pansy said, staring out the kitchen window at their back garden. 

Severus Snape wasn’t a perfect man, some might not even call him a good man, but he had accepted Pansy long before anyone else had. He didn’t have to be a good person or even a great person. He had been the first person who told her that she was allowed to be herself; that there was nothing _wrong_ with being who she was. Her head of house long ago pulled aside when she was crying because what Marcus Flint had told her that she was betraying what it meant to be a witch because she liked girls. 

Pansy punched Marcus for that and tried to make his stupid teeth even more crooked than there were before. When Professor Snape pulled her aside, she had steeled herself for the detentions that were to come, but instead, he said, _‘Flint has been punished and never forget that the little git is wrong. There is nothing wrong with being who you are.’_

She had clung to those words as if they were a lifesaver and she was drowning. Because the fact was, Pansy had been in a way, but now she was not, she was flying. However, that didn't mean that she could simply forget what it felt like to fall.

“No,” Hermione retorted, her eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring as she did so. “He was horrible to me, and no, I do not care that he was your Head of House. I don’t buy the bullshite that Harry slings that he did it all for Lily Potter, because if he had, he would not have been cruel to people like me.”

“He was the first person who told me I was allowed to be myself,” Pansy cried. “Severus Snape may have loved Lily Potter, but he wasn’t in love with her. He was gay. I am sorry he was cruel to you, however, Harry and Ron were once cruel to me, too. That man was a shade of grey just like a lot of people are.” 

Hermione bit her lip as if she was holding back, but after a few moments, she nodded.

Pansy gave up on that front. It wasn’t worth it for them to fight about Severus Snape, who he was and what he was. . She’d said her piece on the subject of their now-deceased professor. 

She allowed herself to calm down taking in slow breaths before she said, “Now, what other name for a boy do you like?”

Hermione’s voice shook as she spoke, “Albus, I think it would be a great way to honour him and would give our child something to live up to, but I am sure you hate it.”

“I… I don’t, but I am wondering if we can meet in the middle, in a way and honestly we don’t have to decide at this moment… I’m not even pregnant yet.”

“What would that be?” her wife asked, as she reached out for her once more. 

Loving someone was sometimes fighting with them, but it was also forgiving them and finding common ground. 

Pansy smiled, took Hermione’s hand and pulled her close. “We could name him Albus Severus, after both of them… It would be a way to honour them both.”

“Albus Severus, I love it,” Hermione said and then she crashed her lips against Pansy’s. 

Stepping into the light was not a single action but one of many. It was planting a tree you might never sit under. It was about being alive and doing what was right. It was about loving someone so dearly that you would do anything for them, and them for you. Love was one the greatest of all gifts but so was understanding. Even if Pansy could choose to be anywhere else she would still choose this moment every single time. On the first day of Hanukkah, with slight smell of burnt latkes still in the air, but by her side a woman that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Sometimes you had to find the joy in the little moments because those in the end were the most important.

  
  


  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me (Ada) on [tumblr](https://ada-lovelaced.tumblr.com/) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/ada_lovelaced/) and check out some more art!


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